Draco's Tea
by GreenEyesGreySkies
Summary: Draco's a tea snob. One day, Harry tries to make tea for him. Post-Hogwarts AU featuring a pompous!Draco and lots of stupid bickering. Also a cat named Maxie or Macy. We're not entirely sure.


**drarry prompted by textualselection**

**prompt:** _How about super fluffy with Draco all up at arms because Harry has made him a cup of tea and they both know how notoriously picky Draco is about his tea and why didn't Harry just let the house-elves make it as usual instead of setting himself up for a dramatic failure at tea perfection... The tea is perfect. Fluff ensues._

**Author's Note: I loved this prompt so much that I had to post it here for you guys. The concept of Draco and Harry fighting over tea is just so deliciously European. Classy, classy. Obviously, Draco only drinks the best. Tsk tsk Harry.**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own these two dunderheads.

_**~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~**_

"Here. Drink up."

Draco rolled his eyes and straightened up on the couch to receive his tea. "S'bout time," he muttered haughtily. "Winky normally finishes earlier—or was she drinking again? Bloody elf, we should've left her at Hogwarts, I don't care what you say that Granger says! I'll have to send Father an owl. He shall hear about this."

Harry snorted, clearly used to his antics. "Just take it, you pretentious git."

Draco sneered a little, but nevertheless took the saucer and cup from his boyfriend's hands. Every day, at exactly four in the afternoon, Draco had his tea brought to him in the parlour (Draco liked to call it a parlour, at least—it was actually just a large pantry near the kitchen, as their flat was atrociously tiny), and today was no exception. He held the cup in his hands, savouring the warmth for a moment by closing his eyes and breathing in the familiar scent. Mmm. Except—wait. Something didn't feel right. Perhaps Winky had forgotten his special sugar?

"Excuse me," Draco announced, his eyes snapping open as he glared at Harry's retreating back. "What is this?"

Harry turned around, confused. "Your tea?"

"You are positive that Winky made it, right?" Draco pressed. "Not Plucky or Pocky or whatever the bloody hell the other one's name is. Because you know that _Winky _always makes my tea."

Harry chewed on his bottom lip and chuckled nervously. "Erm… no. I made it."

"WHAT?" Draco almost exploded, throwing the teacup onto the table beside him in apparent disgust. "No! You absolute oaf, you can't make my tea!"

Harry pursed his lips and folded his arms across his chest defensively. "Calm down, Draco, I can make tea just fine. Honestly, anybody can make _tea__._"

"For Merlin's sake, how many times do I have to tell you? It's not tea!" Draco declared. "It's an _art. _A very specific, intricate, not-for-your-tiny-brain, detailed _art._ Gods, this is exactly why I cannot consume anything you've made! You with your careless kitchen habits couldn't even possibly _begin_ to comprehend—"

"My careless kitchen habits?" Harry repeated, incredulous. "Are you serious?"

Draco turned up his nose. "_'Is this a spatula or a fish slice? Draco, can you hand me the big spoon?'_" His imitation of Harry's low voice was bordering on ridiculous (not to mention petty), but he didn't care. He wanted his tea, damn it. "It's a ladle, for crying out loud, Harry. A fucking _ladle_!" he shouted, exasperated.

"Oh, now you're just being a big baby," Harry said crossly.

"Am not!" Draco cried. Then he sunk down in his seat and pulled his best pouty face. Harry always fell for that one. "Bring me my tea again, done right this time, and make sure it's in my special cup. You know, the one with the little emerald and silver wings on the sides."

Draco vaguely heard Harry mutter 'big baby' again, but he ignored it, for Harry's sake. He held his head up and waved his boyfriend on. "Run along now love, fetch me another," he urged sweetly, causing the other man to groan with annoyance and gesture at the tea on the table.

"This one is perfectly fine, Draco!" Harry insisted on the arguement. "If you would just taste it—"

"No."

"Taste it!"

"_No!"_

Suddenly Harry growled and lunged at Draco, who responded by shrieking and pawing at the other man's chest, both to no avail. In only a matter of seconds, Harry had managed to straddle Draco firmly and successfully, leaving little room for Draco to struggle. But honestly, it was hardly a fair fight. Harry _knew_ just how delicate Draco's arms were and he had used that information to his advantage. The scheming bastard! Draco spluttered indignantly as the ex-Gryffindor picked up the cup of tea and shoved it at Draco's face with unnecessary force.

"DRINK IT."

"Make me, Potter! I'll clamp my mouth shut!"

"Fine, I'll just pour it all over your prize-winning face then, hm?" Draco shook his head vehemently, but Harry was not to be deterred. "How about your hair? What would it look like covered in _perfectly decent_ tea?" he challenged.

Draco balked. "Oh, over your dead body! Don't underestimate me, Potter, I have approximately three Looks of Destruction and they _will_ kill you. Need not I remind you of our old cat, Maxie. I told him not to scratch at my cabinets, I told him!"

Harry was giving him an impatient look. "Our cat _Macy _ran away, because some blond prat hadn't fed _her _in over a week. Now stop playing around, Draco, I will not have you waste a whole cup. Drink the fucking tea."

"I'm warning you, Harry!" Draco hollered, twisting and turning his torso in another futile attempt. "Just go have Winky make me another cup, or I'll bite your arm, I'll—"

Unfortunately, Harry had decided to snatch the golden opportunity to tip the cup right in the middle of Draco's impassioned rant, causing hot liquid to stream into Draco's wide open mouth. Draco coughed dramatically, spluttering as the tea trickled down his throat. "Oh god!" he exclaimed, choking. "It's—It's—!"

Then Draco smacked his lips together and blinked. Well, Merlin be damned. It was… absolutely perfect.

Harry smirked, satisfied. "Good, eh?"

Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Earl Grey?"

"Wouldn't dream of anything else."

"35 temp?"

"No more, no less."

"Spoon of cream? Cap of milk? It's got to be half and half."

"It's the only kind we've got in the fridge, Draco."

Draco studied Harry's green eyes carefully. This was the final test, the one that could make or break a faultless cup of tea, or perhaps even their relationship, if Harry didn't know the answer. "Freshly strained leaves or," he shuddered, "bagged and store bought?"

Harry smirked again. "Do you think that I'm an idiot?"

Draco fought back a smile by biting his lip, and then grabbed the tea from Harry's hands to take a generous sip from it. How incredible... It truly was flawless. Harry deserved a load of credit for taking note of his distinct habits; Draco had never actually been sure that Harry took much attention to anything that he did at all, despite all of his well-placed moans and antics. And now, of course, Draco felt a bit foolish for making such a big deal over tea, even if it _was_ an art that Harry probably would never comprehend. Which it was.

"I love you," he said sweetly, nuzzling Harry's shoulder in appreciation and wordless apology for freaking out. He knew that Harry would understand.

Harry grinned and kissed the top of Draco's head, silently accepting the equally silent apology. "I love you too, prat."

"Bastard."

Harry grinned again.

Draco took another sip of tea and sighed contentedly. "But Harry," he remarked, a pleasant smile on his face. "If you even think about threatening my hair again, I cannot promise a pleasant end for you... Seriously, this is a warning. Three Looks."


End file.
